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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25702861">Better Left Unsaid</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingDot/pseuds/KingDot'>KingDot</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dungeons &amp; Dragons (Roleplaying Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alfie has a lot of names, Alfie has a terrible horrible no good very bad day, Dungeons &amp; Dragons Character Backstory, Original Characters - Freeform, Other, coming of age I guess?, high-level D&amp;D, what do you want from them</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:41:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,324</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25702861</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingDot/pseuds/KingDot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Even they who tell the tales of others should have a few stories of their own. </p><p>Han Guanting has worn a lot of names, but they've always had the same heart. They see no reason to not wear it on their sleeve, if it's the only way they'll be recognized.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Better Left Unsaid</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my D&amp;D character for the only game I'm currently playing! It feels weird to only be in one game at a time, and all of my creative energy is being dumped into this character. So instead of berating my poor GM with updates to things that ultimately don't affect the story that's currently unfolding, I'm going to throw it at the internet and hope that somebody is inspired in some way. Hopefully.<br/>Anyway, enjoy the tale of the child who would one day become Alfie.<br/>(it should be noted: I don't own the world, but I do own most of the characters. I will be sure to point out the characters I didn't come up with. D&amp;D is weird like that.)</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Baby Guanting! How they became a bard! I'm cherry picking scenes from their OBSCENELY long backstory to present to you because I think it's neat.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Han Guanting was born in a small village in Xish, to farmer parents. Their family grew herbs and root vegetables, but they also had a building on a market street that had belonged to Guanting's great great grandfather. Farmers from all around the village who did not have their own stalls on market days would sell their wares to the Han family grocery. Sometimes, in the planting season, they filled the shop with Su Yon's pottery or Grandmother Song's sewing. Life was simple. Life was good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Life was boring, if you were a kid who ate up any stories of adventure you could get your grubby little hands on. Guanting wanted to live in the skies. They wanted to experience all the world had to offer before they were forced to settle for a simple life in an impossibly small town. Was that too much to ask?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>- </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Guan was trying out courtesy names. They wouldn’t have to choose one for a whole thirteen years yet—an impossibly long time—but it couldn’t hurt to ask their friends to call them by something new for a week. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This week, they were wearing the name Maple. It was like a warm cloak in the autumn and brought with it a flutter of sunshine and sweetness. They liked it, but they weren’t sure if it fit yet. But it was a new Common word they’d learned, and anything from a language they didn’t really speak was pretty on their tongue. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This was a week that called for a new name, even if it was just two friends who would use it. This week was the Harvest Festival, and this year it was the village of Kipu that would play host for the whole province. Twelve townships would represent this year, the most in almost eight years. It would be a bigger festival than any Maple had ever seen. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, Maple was seven. So that made sense. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The little town of Kipu was all done up for the celebration. Paper lanterns lit with tiny candles hung on wires at odd angles over the main street. The bridge into town was woven with fresh-picked flowers and lit with floating mage lights that an elder from Tanabi village had lent to the planning committee. Caravans arrived for days with herds and herds of ibex and kanni, preparing to sell stock the morning after the feast. Farmers brought the best of their harvest to trade and sell, crafters brought their wares, and the market thrummed with life for days before the night of the full moon. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was the day of the feast and Maple was leaning over the fence of one of the ibex pens, trying to touch one of their horns. Wan had lost interest in the antics of his younger sister, but Suki was egging them on, and they couldn’t back down from that. If they could just get a little closer— </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Guanting!” A sharp voice echoed over the rocky valley between the pens and a tiny farm just at the edge of town. Maple flinched on reflex and Suki immediately ran for the bushes. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They toppled to the ground outside the pen and glared at the quivering foliage. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Guanting! Come finish your weeding!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Traitor,” Maple hissed in the direction of the two sapphire eyes in the shadows. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Survivor,” the bush corrected. She giggled in a decidedly un-plant-like fashion. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maple rolled to their feet and ran back home, hopping from one rocky ridge to another. They could see their mother rolling her eyes. “Finish weeding the garden and then come wash up.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They slid down the last little hill and came to a stop before the back door of the house. Han Luoyang pinched their cheek and brushed a little dirt from their hair. “I have a new shirt for you to wear tonight and—” she squished his cheeks together, “—you’re not going to get any stains on it, right?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They giggled. “No stains, mom.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She patted their cheeks and sent them off to finish their chores. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>- </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What felt like a thousand years later, Maple chased after Suki down the glittering market street. The stalls of produce and pottery had been cleared away to make room for a dozen feasting tables of different sizes and ages. Decorations older than little Maple had been pried from their dusty hiding places and given new life and maybe a little new paint. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Grandmother Song and her cohort had conspired the meal for them that evening, and the air smelled heavenly. Maple could just see the tiny mountain of Yuanxiao in front of Song’s youngest daughter and wondered briefly if she could be tricked into giving them a few extra. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Suki had stopped in her tracks while Maple was looking away, and they toppled all over her. The two of them sprawled in the grass for a moment, deciding whether or not they were hurt or angry. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Suki decided on angry. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What was that for!” she squeaked. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You stopped!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I was listening!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maple picked theirself up from the ground and stuck out a hand to help Suki up. She patently ignored it and teetered to her feet on her own. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t hear anything,” Maple said. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Suki tutted. “That’s because you’re not listening, stupid. Come on, I think I can hear the pipers practicing!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And just like that, she was off like a firework. Maple rolled their eyes with all the drama their seven years could muster and hopped after her. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Behind the weaver’s house was a little patio that she and her husband often used to entertain family. She’d lent the space for a small band of musicians to practice before they played at the feast. Maple recognized two faces, the weaver’s sons, brilliant tenors both. The rest must have come from different villages around the province. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There are moments in one’s life that can only be appreciated in retrospect. It was a simple song they were singing, just a story that they’d heard over a hundred bedtimes. They knew it by heart. But it was changed, somehow, when set to music. A little girl who couldn’t stand her family, taken away to a land of faeries. Green-eyed Sue, she was called, and she made a name for herself as a pirate on the Fair Folk’s seas. It was a story from Elun, they thought. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maple watched the mandolin player intently, trying to track their fingers as they danced across the fretboard. She was so animated, it was like she </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>lived</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> in the music. She only sang a gentle harmony, but something in it made Maple feel emotions they never thought possible. They felt weightless, floating on that voice like a gentle river. It was so powerful that their eyes welled with tears. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It wasn’t until the song was done that they could catch their breath. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“That was good,” the mandolinist was saying, looking down at a sheet of parchment covered in strange markings, “but we should go over that second chorus one more time. I know my harmony was a little shaky. Can we start at the top of the verse?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tao, one of the weaver’s sons, nudged her with an elbow. “Lin, I think we have a very small audience.” He gestured to the obviously insufficient hiding spot Suki had picked for them. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Suki, of course, had somehow disappeared while they were entranced. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Traitor. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The mandolinist, Lin, smiled warmly at them, but Maple was suddenly overcome with a wave of childhood timidness. They squeaked in a very un-heroic fashion, and ran back down the alleyway and out of sight, chased by the woman’s musical laughter. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When they returned to their worried mother and amused father and grandmother, they had two tiny stains on their new shirt and a new favorite daydream. They knew what they wanted to be when they grew up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, it was between a Bard and a Pirate. But they had time to figure that out. </span>
  </em>
</p>
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